Constant Vigilance!
by lucifer ravana
Summary: Bellatrix Black, the vixen in high heels and a short dress. Moody could remember each little bit of her as she came waltzing into his office that one day.


The room smelt of week old liquor and resembled a barroom after a fight had broken out and the participants asked to leave. The floor was strewn with empty bottles, carelessly tossed away by the man who rested upon the couch. He hadn't moved from his vintage point in days, save to grab another bottle, hoping to drown the past month's events in a stream of hazy thought and repressed memories.  
  
How did the Death Eaters do it exactly? How did they go back to their families after a day of killing and murders and bloodshed? How did they live with themselves? It was something many of the Aurors pondered in the late nights and long days as they sat vigil on a stakeout or about to take in another raid.  
  
But they pondered the reason why based on moral conscious decisions. Alastor Moody simply wanted to know how to forget.  
  
The ceiling fan waved around and around above him. It made a low whirring noise that had, at first, bothered him, but now he had become accustomed to it, needed it even. The senseless sound reminded him that he could still hear. That and the crashing of another bottle hitting the floor. Another empty bottle.  
  
A week of being drunk and he still had not managed to forget. To his credit, he hadn't been completely drunk at the time. Just on the moments when he raved about Death Eaters and Dumbledore and, above all, Her.  
  
Bitch.  
  
Still, the fan waved around and around. His normal eye watched it spin, his magical eye focused more on the sprigs that allowed it to move.  
  
Someone knocked upon his front door and he made a movement to grab his wand and only managed to fall off the couch instead. "Whatdoyouwant?" His speech was slurred and blurred together to create something nonsensical but, nonetheless, understood by the person on the other side of the door.  
  
Dumbledore entered the small house that had to be no one else's but Moody's. The place was far too obsessed with security and emanated a touch of Moody's strange quirks. Albus shut the door behind him, taking in the sight with resigned dismay. "You've fallen hard, old friend."  
  
Moody simply grunted and, with effort, picked himself up off the floor and placed his body back upon the sofa. "Come here to gloat?"  
  
"Not at all." Regardless of their friendship, Dumbledore remained in the doorway, not being invited in, not inviting himself within. "I've come only to give you a promotion."  
  
"Promoting drunken fools these days, Albus?" A sharp laugh followed the self-depricatory comment. "You must be desperate for help."  
  
"I'm not, but you are. From this day forth, Alastor, I'm leaving you in control of the Aurors."  
  
Now that got Moody's attention, enough to sober him up, at least. "Say what?"  
  
"You heard me. Command of the Aurors has now been given to you. I trust that you will lead them to the best of your abilities and fulfill.."  
  
"Stop. Just..stop." Moody interrupted, far too used to Albus' speeches to give them their proper due. "You can't be serious. I'm hardly fit to lead."  
  
He was putting restrictions on himself again. The same thing he did when Albus first managed to get ahold of him after Alastor had graduated. The old man, now Headmaster of Hogwarts, had entered Alastor's cell in the Ministry and asked him, point blank, if he thought he had what it took to be an Auror.  
  
Moody had laughed in his face but Albus had given him a way out. A chance to use himself to the best of his abilities. He hadn't thought the man to be serious, not even after Albus paid his bail, took him home, trained him, and gave him the Auror uniform.  
  
It was a debt that was still being paid off. One that hadn't ended even when Moody had lost his eye and leg while in the service.  
  
"I'm very serious, but I do agree with you. In your current state, you're not fit to lead. I suggest you clean yourself up before you report in."  
  
"What about Minerva?" Moody shifted himself to a sitting position. "She's your number two, isn't she? Why can't she lead them?"  
  
Minerva. Such memories surrounding her. She had been a wonderful asset to the Quidditch team and served as an even better crush. Not that he would ever tell her that. She never seemed interested in him and he did not mind that, content to stay within her shadow as a lone admirer.  
  
Or not so lone as a certain black-haired Slytherin had put his eye upon her, had seduced her to his own ways, had wormed his way into her heart. Minerva had been smart to leave Riddle, Moody concluded, but her tastes were forever tainted by the darkness she had seen within him. She had gone to Albus, not to Alastor, because Albus was safe and free from any sort of taint.  
  
Whereas Moody had a background that spoke nothing of safety in any form. Alastor would rather think it was in these causes that Minerva never came to him and had nothing to do with love. He wasn't sure if Minerva truly loved anyone other than Tom even now, but it was not his life to question.  
  
"Minerva will be teaching at Hogwarts. She won't have the time to lead the Aurors. Besides," Dumbledore added with that damned twinkle in his eyes, "would you really be able to see her leading the Aurors?"  
  
Moody gave a sort of half-chuckle, half-snort that sounded far too drunken for his own good. "Guess that brings you to me, huh? No one else on the waiting list?"  
  
"No one else deserves this more than you, Alastor."  
  
That brought them full circle to where they stood now and why Moody was currently like this.  
  
Bellatrix Black, the vixen in high heels and a short dress. Moody could remember each little bit of her as she came waltzing into his office that one day. He had interrogated her beforehand and she had offered him wine and madelines if he should come over and see her again, only when it wasn't about business.  
  
He hadn't made a commitment, not wanting to dine with any alleged Death Eater, but she had been tenacious. She had taken the upper-hand by coming into his office, his territory, carting with wine and madelines.  
  
He had been shocked, to say the least, but he had seen it all before. Every Death Eater had their tactic, after all. Hers was simply less crass than the others. That's what he was inclined to believe and told her so in not so uncertain terms. She had taken offense.  
  
"Is it so impossible to believe that someone might be after you for your own sake?"  
  
That had alternately touched and hurt him. Since the loss of his leg, he had fallen into his own sort of depression. He'd never felt so helpless, so damned vulnerable to the world before, and that sort of attitude was unheard of for him. She had looked upon him with sympathy, perhaps knowing that it was what he needed then.  
  
He had turned her away again, wanting nothing more to do with her or her kind. She had left, taking the madelines and wine with her and he hoped he wouldn't have to see her again.  
  
So why then did he feel so inexplicably drawn to her? Because she had offered him a hand up? Because she resembled his long-term crush on Minerva? Because she seemed to care?  
  
It was the first time he had spoken up in defense of an accused Death Eater and had been greeted with a slew of strange looks. It was also the first time he learned how rabid he presented himself in front of the rest of the Order.  
  
"Constant vigilance," Minerva had reminded him and he brushed her off casually. He did not need his words tossed back in his face.  
  
At the time of the World Quidditch Cup, he and the rest of the Order had been under Dumbledore's orders to scour about and watch the alleged Death Eaters in case they were planning something. It was a high profile event so there was numerous tension in the air. Moody had been assigned Mulciber but the man had left early on in the game, finding it not worth his time.  
  
With some hesitation, he found himself on the trail of Bellatrix Black, there with her brother-in-law who was watched over by James Potter. To this day, Moody could not recall how their conversation got started, only that she had been the one to acknowledge him and speak first. They got on to talking, Alastor being more civil than before with her in his office. Here, they were in a public setting. Here, they were limited and yet, were given the freedom to explore the other's mind.  
  
Moody would have liked to think that he had control over the situation. He hadn't. And when Bellatrix had confessed to him how she used to cut herself in order to take away some of the emptiness in her life, Moody made the Gryffindorly error of feeling sympathy for the young woman.  
  
In his eyes, she was slightly lost. While Alastor had been accused of using Slytherin methods to track down and capture some of the most agile of Death Eaters, he was still a Gryffindor to the core and he still cared.  
  
Worst of all, he was still a male. One who had gotten used to looking in the mirror and finding himself no longer attractive, no longer young, no longer as nimble as many others. He was not steeped in self-pity, but he wasn't immune to the compliments of a lovely young woman.  
  
He accepted her kiss and returned it with one of his own, not allowing her to go any further. "If you're life was so empty before, why try to fill it with meaningless sex now?" He had touched something within her that time. He knew it, could see it in her eyes.  
  
It was at that point that he knew he could help her.  
  
Moody did not fool himself with thoughts of redemption. He did not believe for a second that Bellatrix would ever help the Aurors or Dumbledore in anyway. But he did believe in a better life for her. A life of her own and away from the Death Eaters. Perhaps something together.  
  
But those thoughts were that of an impulsive teenager's and not one of a responsible adult's who had been shot at far too many times to ignore common sense for what it was worth. Still, he could not keep from indulging himself in flights of fancy, with the two of them leaving the wizarding world to its wars and retreating elsewhere, far away from the bloodshed and agony of its members.  
  
But no. He could never leave Dumbledore nor his beliefs. He could not stand idly by and watch as others suffered around him. But he would be lying if he said the thought of departure was one he never entertained.  
  
Bellatrix invited him over to her place for dinner that Friday and he had accepted. Minerva had cornered him later on, having seen the two shared kisses between Alastor and the alleged Death Eater. She had worried for him and he had responded with anger, biting anger, the kind of anger that just sat for years waiting, waiting for someone to come by so it could be let go of.  
  
In his eyes, she accused him of Bellatrix, even though she had been guilty of numerous sins with Riddle. He snapped at her and regretted it when it was over and done. Minerva was still a friend and there was nothing really going on between him and Bellatrix. He told Minerva that he believed Bellatrix was different, that she could be helped, that she was lost and scared.  
  
She had left, believing his story. The sad truth was that Moody believed it himself.  
  
The Friday night dinner was a simple but pleasant act. The Elves had cooked, slaved, away in the kitchen and they had dined well while speaking of this and that. She let him into some of her personal life and he responded in kind. The freedom to be able to speak about this and that came as easily to him with Bellatrix as it did whenever he was speaking to Minerva or Albus. She accepted and understood him for what he was and he, in turn, did his best to understand her.  
  
She touched him deeply several times in the conversation and he found he remembered those times fondly, for it had been years since anyone ever made an effort to understand him and his ways. He could only hope that he was as accepting as she seemed to be.  
  
The dinner had ended not with sex, but with a lovely kiss that was far more intimate than any fumbling of hands could do. He left feeling happy for the first time in ages.  
  
From that moment on, Bellatrix could do no wrong. She was justified in her behaviour and he would argue against any Order member who spoke ill of her. He got defensive and even more surly than he originally had been before. Minerva seemed shaken by this turn of events and Albus appeared to be more saddened than anything else. Moody ignored the looks he got, confident in his own abilities and knowing that Bellatrix only needed time.  
  
Everything came to a head a month later. The anniversary of when Bellatrix first came into his life. They had gone out to dinner only to return back to her home, laughing and soaked with the sudden downpour of rain that occurred during dinner.  
  
It was like one big cliche, Moody couldn't help but point out as Bellatrix asked him why he had to be so cynical. At that time, it seemed that even the heavens were in his favour as the both of them ignored drying spells and stripped to allow their clothes to dry the normal way.  
  
She had a spare robe which she graciously lent to him and the two sat in front of the fire, their hands gently touching, fingertips sliding up the palms of their partner's hands.  
  
He had always thought that sex was something messy and to be indulged in whenever possible when he was young. Now that he was older and had more experience, he desired to savour her as only he could. He carried her to the bedroom and they made love inside her caopied bed atop the black silk sheets. He explored her body carefully, with the ease of a longtime romantic as she moaned underneath him.  
  
It had been a long time since he had last discovered the pleasures of another's body, but he found his old instincts creeping back over him again as he defined every inch of her with his hands, touching her skin tenderly at first and then rougher, as though wanting to imprint himself, his mark, upon her body.  
  
She was glorious for her part, moaning out her delight whenever he pleased her, touching him where no one else for so long. He was delighted by her, intoxicated by her very essence. In the moment before he came, he loved her.  
  
He fell asleep in her arms. She had been the first person who had seen him sleep in years.  
  
She had seemed distant when they had woken up. She wouldn't speak that much and turned away from him as he was getting his clothes on. He had grown concerned and went over to her, fearful that he had struck a nerve from her past and that she was feeling more of the emptiness that had been left within her. "Bellatrix?"  
  
And then he was hit by a stupefy spell, sending him falling down, down, down with only her eyes upon him.  
  
"Sorry, Alastor." And then his world descended into blackness.  
  
He awoke to pain. To excruciating pain cascading down his body, infiltrating his mind, making him ache in places he never even knew about, making him nearly yearn for death.  
  
Alastor Moody was capable of many things. Hatred had now become a big part of it. As he looked up into the face of not the Dark Lord who was casting the Cruciatus upon him but onto the face of Bellatrix Black, he knew damn well what hatred was. Hatred for her and hatred for himself. He felt anger, rage, disappointment, and the raw pain that threatened to turn his insides out.  
  
"Name your fellow Aurors and maybe your death will be merciful." It was the only command he was given and it was one he wouldn't bother to obey.  
  
He hated Bellatrix, hated her for what she did to him and hated himself for believing in her lies. God help him, he even hated her for the look upon her face as another Cruciatus hit him again, over and over.  
  
He would live, he knew. He would live through this and he would make them all pay. But especially her.  
  
His torture ended only for him to black out again. He awoke in a St. Mungo's bed to one helluva headache and residual pains coasting through his body. The Aurors had managed to locate one of Voldemort's hideaways and it had been through pure luck that they had stumbled across him. It had been empty save for his body, there was no evidence of anything save for Moody's own story.  
  
Of the many Aurors, the only ones who knew what had really gone on was Moody, Albus, and Minerva, for Alastor couldn't bear to tell anyone else and it would not accomplish anything. There was only his word for what had happened versus Bellatrix and her hundreds of witnesses all ready and willing to lie for her.  
  
He had recovered from the round of Cruciatus but had yet to recover from Bellatrix.  
  
"Will you take the position, Alastor?" Albus asked, pulling Moody back to the present.  
  
"Yeah." He did not need a moment's deliberation. "I'll take it." He had sworn that at the end of the war, Bellatrix would be found guilty. He would do anything and everything in his power to make sure of that.  
  
Bellatrix hadn't deterred Moody from his path. Instead, she had plugged new paranoias within him, had set him even further on his course to hunt and destroy the Death Eaters. They would all pay.  
  
Albus left Moody's house with a mixed sense of relief and sadness. Relief that Moody took the position and sadness that he had aided nothing to Moody's own mental state. Albus would be lying if he said that Moody wasn't useful to the Aurors and he had no doubt that Alastor would prove to be an effective leader.  
  
The problem remained, however, that he had given Alastor the key to the man's revenge, had allowed him the Aurors he needed to track down and seek the Death Eaters. He had fueled Moody's vengeance and he could only blame himself for the results that were caused from this.  
  
It was for the greater good, Dumbledore assured himself. 


End file.
